


Don't Fear the Reaper

by Christiiiiine



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Maggie Tozier, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Wentworth Tozier, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, No Smut, None of this Forgetting Nonsense, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, She Still Calls, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, We Die Like Men, Why Did I Write This?, fellas it's a f/cking soap opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christiiiiine/pseuds/Christiiiiine
Summary: the crossover literally no one asked for.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, The Losers Club (IT) & The Party (Stranger Things), Will Byers/Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 60
Kudos: 129





	1. Pilot (All Our Times Have Come)

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea why the hell i wrote this but it's here now, so. *shrugs*
> 
> the title is, of course, from the blue oyster cult song. i had to use it, it kind of fits the vague direction of where the plot is supposed to go, and also it's a quintessential 80's tune.

Richie had gone pale under the dusting of freckles on his nose. His glasses, the left lens of which was cracked, made his eyes look huge and round and much, much younger than sixteen. Or maybe it wasn’t youth that he saw; maybe it was innocence in his eyes. Not lack of knowledge, or even false acknowledgment of a perfect world; but Richie Tozier looked at his father like he was a god. And this confused Wentworth more than anything, because the way that his son looked at his friends was like they knew something he never would, not in that children keeping a secret kind of way, but a burden they all would carry for the rest of their lives. He had never asked what this burden was, though he would have given anything to carry it for his son, but he trusted him to ask for help when he needed it. Perhaps that was the only mistake as a father he had ever made. 

He thought for a minute, and then changed his mind.

Looking down at his son again, Wentworth fully drank in the amount of faith and trust Richie held for him. He prepared himself to never see it again.

“Son,” he said breathily. Richie blinked, but said nothing. Wentworth almost smiled. He was proud of Richie’s newfound ability to sense when to be serious. In this case, not saying anything was the right thing to do, but Went still had to remind him sometimes to shut that trap of his. Still, he thought, this was a sign of anything that he wasn’t ready for this news. He was just a boy. Tears filled his eyes at the sudden realization of what he was about to do. 

“Pops,” Richie said. “You’re scaring me.”

“Well,” Went said, continuing. “It’s… well, you--you should be a little scared, it’s… it’s nothing good.”

“It’s Mom, isn’t it?” he said quietly. Wentworth rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands and sighed. 

“You’re so clever,” he said. “I wonder where you get it from, sometimes.”

“I try,” Richie joked. They were silent for a minute. “Is she dead?” he asked. Went nodded. 

“She showed up at your aunt’s a few weeks after she left,” he said, his voice wavering. “She was staying at a hotel in Indiana for a while, and your aunt was trying to get her into rehab, but she found your mother last night.” Richie nodded. “But there’s something else,” Went continued. Richie was looking directly at him, and the intense eye contact made Wentworth want to look away. But the thing about being a father is, to be a good one, you must acknowledge your mistakes. And Wentworth had made a big one. 

“You were adopted.” Richie looked down for a minute, and Went’s heart sank. 

“Figures,” Richie said suddenly. “I never looked enough like you. I thought I was illegitimate, for a while.” Went almost smiled.

“Not illegitimate,” He said. “Just our nephew.”

“Do I have siblings?” he asked.

“I’m not too sure,” he responded. “Your mother tried to keep me as far away from the affairs as possible.”

“That does sound like her,” he said. 

“Another thing,” Went said.

“Oh, boy,” Richie said.

“They’re sending you to live with your birth parents.” Richie was silent then. Wentworth puzzled for a while at the mysterious nature of his son before saying, “I can’t tell what you’re thinking. Is that intentional?”

“I haven’t processed it yet.”

“And when you do?” he pressed.

“I dunno, pops. Not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly prone to show emotion.”

“Why is that, do you think?” Christ, Went thought, I sound like a shrink. 

“I think,” Richie responded fluidly, “That it might be because you never would.”

***

Will unpacked the last of the cardboard box. His dungeonmaster's guide stared back at him from the bottom of the box, the hardback cover glistening in the natural light of his new bedroom. His curtains, the only sort of decoration that had come with the house, flapped in the breeze of his open window.

He liked his new room, he would suppose. It was bright, the one with the most windows in the house. The ceilings were sloped and met in the middle above a white ceiling fan. The walls were light periwinkle. 

By all means it was like nowhere he’d ever slept before; it was very feminine and quite the opposite of his previous room. He had hung his posters, the Clash and Bowie and the Ramones. He thought about the walls of his old house, riddled with holes from push-pins fixed with seals of wax from white crayons. Strangely, it didn’t feel like home anymore. But looking around his room, Will realized he didn’t know what felt like home anymore. His mother, yes, and Jonathan. Dustin felt like home, and Lucas, even Max felt warm and familiar. Mike, most of all, felt like home. _I guess we’ll just go crazy together, huh?_

And Eleven, whom he had grown to love, was a part of home, a part of Mike, was someone he was honored to take with him. She was as beautiful and fierce and strong as his mother, and through it all, they had grown to love each other. Not necessarily as siblings, but the love was there, and it was left unnamed, and both parties were fine like that. Will liked to think they were the two parts of Mike’s soul he couldn’t live without. It was a pretty thought. 

Eleven walked in at a happy time in his thoughts. Her eyes, red from crying, met his, and despite everything, she smiled, albeit a tad nervously. She was like that often, he thought. Years in a lab with nothing but stone walls and frigid air to keep her company must have made her feel as though she was never allowed to feel happy. Will contemplated this; he hadn’t been really and truly happy for a very long time, but maybe El never had. This made him angry; though he figured it must have been the reason they had moved to Derry. A fresh start. 

“It’s different here,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said. 

“But maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he said. She was silent, but her face and eyes said everything.


	2. Here But Now They're Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your child has a secret twin, tell them maybe.

The social security worker looked exactly like her job description. Her hair was short; it came down to her chin in a sort of fake blond bob. She was wearing enough hairspray to start a forest fire. Her heels clacked on the driveway as she approached the Wheeler’s large brick house, moving in a sort of waddle to accommodate the tight pencil skirt that came down to just past her knees. Her face was stiff, her eyebrows clearly painted on, thin and arched, with a pencil three shades darker than her hair. She looked as though she had never smiled in her life. 

She approached the door like a lioness stalking an unaware herd of antelope, ringing the doorbell multiple times. Weather or not she rang it to be sure it was heard or she rang it to be obnoxious remains to be seen. Her eyes glistened at the sounds of chaos behind the door. 

_Michael, please get the door._

_Make Nancy get it!_

_I’m busy, Mike!_

_Jesus Christ._

Finally, a boy with raven curls answered. If she was surprised by the uncanny resemblance to her client, it certainly didn’t show on her face. 

“Can I help you?” he asked impatiently.

“Is this the home of Karen and Ted Wheeler?”

“Yes,” he said, arching an eyebrow. She raised one right back at him, penciled on all evil stepmother-like. He didn’t appear to be intimidated. This surprised her. In fact, she felt almost offended. Her client hadn’t been afraid of her, either. She contemplated this.

“Please fetch your mother or father for me.” The child rolled his eyes and turned around.

“MOM!” he screamed. The social worker made a show of cleaning earwax from her ears. A lady, shockingly younger that the social worker had expected, descended down the stairs with a little girl, about six years old, hanging from one of her arms and a basket of dirty laundry in the other.

“Michael, take Holly please. And stick this in the wash when you have a chance.” She turned to the social worker. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Please, come in, have a seat. Would you like some lemonade?” 

“Mrs. Wheeler,” said the social worker, ignoring her offer in favor of taking a seat at the dining room table. Her voice was sharp as steel against stone. “My name is Regina Hargreaves. I am here on behalf of my client, Wentworth Tozier. I believe he is the adoptive father of a son you had, just over sixteen years ago, was it?” A slideshow of emotions washed over Karen’s face. She went pink, then ghost pale. The social worker almost smiled. Seeing different people’s versions of shocked never got old.

“Yes,” said Karen, clearing her throat. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“What?” asked the boy. Michael, remembered the social worker. Richard’s twin. Karen lifted her hands up to her face. She thought better of it, and placed them in her lap instead. 

“Michael,” she said. “Please take your sister upstairs.” Micheal opened his mouth as if to say something. Karen gave him a look of utter helplessness. Under her breath, she voiced her plea. “Mike,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Fine,” he said, jutting out his sharp chin. “But you have some explaining to do.” He took the little girl’s hand. “Come on, Holly Jolly, want to play dress-up?” The little girl looked at her mother nervously. Karen looked at anything but her children. 

As soon as they had rounded the corner above the staircase, the social worker opened her briefcase. She didn’t bother to apologize for what they both knew was to come. 

* * *

Richie was asleep. It was the first he’d slept without nightmares in months. His head rested on Eddie’s lap as Wentworth, with his hands at ten and two, did his best to avoid the potholes.

Wentworth regarded his son with a sharp, intellectual eye. He didn’t judge--how could he when Richie had given him so much mercy only a few days before?--but still, he pondered what it meant to see his sixteen-year-old boy hold hands with his best friend. Went wasn’t naive; he knew what it meant, and of course it was all he had ever wanted for his son to be happy. But he couldn’t help but worry that the world wouldn’t let him. Eddie tried his best to avoid the eye of the man, and in favor took it upon himself to watch the raindrops race each other down the window.

“Eddie,” said Went. Eddie looked up nervously.

“Y-yes sir?”

“Don’t say that,” he said. “It makes me feel old.” Eddie audibly gulped at this. Wentworth smiled a little bit.

“Sorry, uh, Mr. Tozier.”

“Eddie,” he said again. “Do you love my son?” This, regrettably, was not the right thing to say. It nearly tipped Eddie over the edge; he began to panic. Richie stirred, unconsciously sensing Eddie's discomfort. “Eddie, please, I promise I’m not upset.”

“You’re not?” Eddie gasped.

“No, son. You make Richie happy; I’ve seen it. It’ll be hard for you two, of course. But, Eddie, I think that maybe love can just be love sometimes. And, in all honesty, anyone who tries to tell you otherwise has never been in love before.” Eddie looked down at Richie and ran his fingers through his raven curls. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sixteen, Mr. Tozier. People have been telling me about love my whole life, what it feels like and stuff. Lately all they’ve said is that I’ll find a nice girl and settle down. But when they described what love felt like, none of them even came close. And that makes me think that maybe what Richie and I feel for each other is wrong, but how can it be? He makes me so, so happy. But don’t tell him I said that, please.” Wentworth grinned. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” He sobered up a little bit. Richie was always so closed off; talking to Eddie was refreshing. “But, Eddie, you know. I think that when people try to describe love, none of them are describing real love. Most of what they’re talking about is some fucked-up, idealistic, unrealistic version of lust. That kind of love is conditional. And you’re right, of course; sixteen is awfully young to fall in love, but I’d be willing to bet that whatever is going on between the two of you is going to last a very, very long time. I’m not saying you won’t have moments when you want to strangle him, and vice versa, but Richie is the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he’s with you.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Eddie was beaming. “You wanna wake him up? We’re gonna stop at McDonald’s for lunch.”

***

All of this had taken place a few hours after the three of them had set off to the halfway point between Derry, Maine, and Hawkins, Indiana. They would meet Karen Wheeler in a hotel somewhere near Buffalo, where all four would spend the night until they parted ways and Richie would continue on his journey westward to Indiana. 

Goodbyes had been said quickly, but each had been packed with emotion. It was clear to Wentworth, who had been standing to the side awkwardly and trying his level best not to intrude, that all of the teenagers he saw saying goodbye to their friend had put off all thought of Richie’s departure until the very last second possible. Tears ran freely amongst the group.

Even Beverly, on her last hurrah of an admittedly dull summer vacation, had flown back from Portland, using her entire allowance, to see Richie off. They took several pictures with the old polaroid camera Stanley had brought with him, enough that each of them had their own copy. Bev kissed him on the cheek and sniffled. 

“We love you, Trashmouth. Take care of yourself, ‘kay? Don’t forget to call.”

“Of course not, Bevvie. I love you too.” She winked at him and slipped him a pack of Malboros. 

“For the road. Don’t blow ‘em all in one day,” she said, smiling through her tears. He squeezed her hand and grinned. 

“I made you something, Rich,” said Stanley. He handed Richie a mixtape. “Bowie, Queen, Elton John, all of your favorites.” Richie threw his arms around Stanley’s neck.

“Stan the man,” he said, voice wavering. “You know me so well.” 

Next was Ben. 

“I’m sorry, Richie. This really, really sucks.”

“Yeah, no shit, Benny boy.” Ben smiled a little. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too, Rich.” Richie laughed a little. “No,” said Ben. “Really. Take care.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I will. I promise.”

“You better.” 

Richie walked over to Mike. 

“Mikey,” he said. “You know I love you, man.” Mike said nothing, but Richie thought that maybe he didn’t need to. Mike wrapped his arms around Richie and they held each other, wordlessly. They released each other hesitantly after a few seconds, each with a slap on the back. 

Finally, Richie approached Bill. He was crying. Richie had never seen him cry before.

“You b-b-bastard,” he said. “Y-y-you better f-f-f-fucking write, or I sw-swear…” Richie cut him off with a hug. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said. “Of course I’ll fucking write.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when the remaining losers wrapped their arms around Richie and Bill. “Well would ya look at that,” he said, choking back a sob. “We’re a loser sandwich.”

“Beep, beep,” said Eddie. “We love you.”

And when the two of them got in the car behind Richie’s father, it was the best they could do to grip each other’s hands till their knuckles turned white, and cry silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments sustain me! Thanks for reading.


	3. We Can Be Like They Are (come on baby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get to know your author!  
> \- Christiiiiine uses she/her pronouns  
> \- Christiiiiine likes tea and coffee  
> \- Christiiiiine's last meal on death row would be a barbeque sandwitch and a chocolate lava cake  
> \- Christiiiiine's favorite song today is My Name Is Jonas by Weezer, but it changes hourly

As soon as the door closed behind Regina the Evil (this was what Mike had chosen to call her in his head; she would be the villain if he ever were to write a children’s book), Karen Wheeler began to cry. These weren’t cries like Mike had ever seen. In fact, when put on the spot, Mike couldn’t ever remember seeing his mother cry. It occurred to him that it might have been because she didn’t care. He wouldn’t realize until much later just how wrong he was.

He approached the dining room table slowly, making no move to either scold or comfort his mother. She didn’t look at him, instead burying her face in her soft, perfectly manicured hands. If anything, this made Mike even more angry. If he was startled by the sudden noise of Nancy opening the front door, he didn’t move. 

“Mom,” she shouted. “I’m home--” Nancy stopped short at the bizarre scene playing out in the dining room. She glanced in between her mother and sibling, then up at Holly, who stood forgotten at the top of the stairs. 

“You won’t even look at me?” Mike’s voice was sharp and cold as a bow. 

“What the hell is going on?” Nancy demanded. Karen looked up. Nancy nearly gasped at the sight of her mother, who, normally composed and sophisticated, had makeup running down her face in streaks of black. She made no move to wipe them away.

“Holly-” Mike began, looking up at his sister.

“No,” said Karen. “She’s old enough to hear this. Richard is her brother, too.”

“What?” Nancy said.

“Sit down,” Karen said. After a minute of Mike and Nancy scuffling, and Holly’s ignored attempt to voice her overall confusion, Karen took a deep breath, and began to tell the three of her children who were there about the one child who wasn’t.

“A few months after my sister, Maggie, and her husband were married, they discovered that they couldn’t have children. A few months later, they got wind of the fact that I was pregnant again… with twins.” Nancy audibly gasped. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and held the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “She was jealous, I think. She was always a problem to my parents, out drinking every night in high school, bringing home countless boys. I was the one who was supposed to live my parents’ dream. I wasn’t perfect, though,” she continued. “It seemed Maggie was the only one who knew that. It drove her crazy. When I was in high school, I had a-” she took a deep breath. “A drug problem. Maggie threatened to tell everyone… she threatened to tell our mother and father.”

“Oh, my god,” Nancy whispered.

“I think I made her even more angry, willing to go so far to save my own goddamn image… She argued for an official adoption of the firstborn twin, without contact.”

“And she won?” Nancy asked.

“I think she must have bribed the judge, personally. Something. But we should have won, we... she fucking took him.” Karen said this with such hate in her voice that Mike physically flinched. 

“Nancy,” Mike said slowly. “Take Holly upstairs, please.” Nancy thought of a normal response she would have to him giving her orders like this. She looked in between her helpless-looking mother, and her equally helpless-looking brother (who by this time looked angrier and more desperate than she had ever seen him in his life), and took Holly’s hand without a word.

As soon as they had rounded the corner, Mike opened his mouth. Out it came sixteen years of lies’ worth.

“You never once thought to tell me.” Mike spoke in an emotionless staccato, stating her mistakes as fact.

“Of course I did, Michael…” 

“No,” he said. “No, no, no. You do not get to play the confused victim card, Mom. I just figured out that my life is a goddamn soap opera, because, what, you didn’t want a bunch of your book club friends to know you had a few too many beers in high school? Congratulations. It _doesn’t fucking matter._ ” he was shouting now. “I don’t give a _shit_ about your excuses. I have a _twin brother…_ ” he began to trail off, sighing heavily. 

Nancy had come back down to witness Mike’s lecture. She was utterly speechless at the sheer preposterousness of everything that had just been uncovered.

“Why are you just now telling us?” she asked quietly. 

“My sister is dead,” she said. “That woman was from social security. They want Richard to stay with us, until they can figure out how qualified his adopted father is.”

“Oh, my God,” Nancy whispered. “Mom, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Karen answered. “I wasn’t.”

Both of the children turned around and went upstairs without another word, leaving Karen sobbing, her head on the table as if she had no strength left to lift it. 

* * *

It was a ring at the doorbell that startled Will and Eleven out of their trance. The new bell made a pleasant *ding!* which was a refreshing change from the Byers’ old place. It was overall much nicer; they had managed it from scraping together the remaining money from financial compensation… The lab wasn’t stingy with its money, and when it got shut down they were legally obligated to get rid of it all anyways. With the help of Hopper, Murray, and their lawyer the Byers siblings had enough money for college, plus a little extra to move to Derry with. Eleven was set up with Sarah’s college funds, something Hopper had made sure of before El was legally his. He left all of his money to her and Joyce when he--

The doorbell rang again.

Will quickly got up to answer it so as not to keep them waiting. He gestured for El to come with him.

“You’re not a secret anymore, remember? We can pretend you’re my sister.” She nodded tentatively.

Will opened the door to the face of a smiling woman. She was about his mother’s age, with smile lines around her eyes and golden hair pulled back into a ponytail at the bottom of her skull. Her skirt matched the shade of her rosy cheeks.

“Good morning,” she said. Her smile, friendly, like a mother’s should be, made Eleven tilt her head in confusion a little. “I heard someone was moving in across the street… I’ve made a casserole.” Will automatically thought of Mike’s mother, but this lady was different. She had such an aura of love around her. Karen Wheeler, though she loved her children, was much less prone to show it. Will looked down at the dish she held.

“Thank you,” he said. “Please, come in.” 

“I just wanted to stop by… I was hoping there would be some children moving into the new house. My son, Ben, is about your age, I would say. He turned sixteen in September.”

“I turned sixteen in March,” said Will. 

“That’s perfect,” she said. “He’s not around right now, unfortunately. One of his friends is moving away today. How funny is that?”

“Where are they moving to, do you know?” Will was uncomfortable. He hated small talk.

“Some town in Indiana. Hawkins, I believe?” Will and Eleven looked at each other, eyes wide.

“That’s where we’re from,” El said.

“Oh, wonderful! What a coincidence! And on the very same day?” She saw Will and Eleven’s uncomfortable exchange of glances and began to gather the hint that there were things that they needed to discuss. “Well,” she said. “I’ll leave you two to it. I’m sure you’re very busy, yes, getting settled and all.” Will tried his best to smile at her. 

“Thank you for stopping by, um…”

“Mrs. Hanscom, if you will,” she said. “It was no trouble. Instructions are on the tinfoil. Welcome to Derry.”

She left Will and Eleven exchanging glances, confirming they both knew neither one of them thought for a second it was a coincidence.

* * *

Silence had been deafening for far too long in the Wheeler household. As Karen woke around five, she realized it had been two whole days since either Nancy or Mike had spoken to her. Holly, who was seven and, bless her soul, immediately ready to forgive and forget anything so long as things could go back to normal. But things were not normal, clearly, and they wouldn’t be for a very long time, if ever. But that’s okay, maybe, because they could find a new version of normal, one that her lost son could be a part of. 

Karen fiddled with her keys a little before sticking them in the lock cylinder. The engine roared to life, dulling down to a nice sputter as she took a look up at her house. Karen got out of the car.

The sun rose over the horizon, turning the sky ombre over the silhouette of the power lines. The chill of the morning felt dry against her skin, tingeing her cheeks and fingers pink. She padded up the stairs quietly, skipping the floorboard that creeks. She knocked on Mike’s door. 

“Michael,” she whispered. “I’m going to get your brother.” Silence. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Would you like to come with me?” Low scuffling behind the door followed, before Mike opened it tentatively. His hair was a mess, and there were bags under his eyes, but Karen’s heart swelled. 

Mike fell asleep about half an hour of silence later. He looked so peaceful and innocent. Guilt plagued Karen, and she blinked back tears. She’d hurt her little boy; more than that, she may have hurt both. Richard had grown up in a house of chaos. He may never have felt loved in his life. Karen brushed the hair from Mike’s eyes.

Mike didn’t move. He felt his mother’s hand in his hair, and part of him was sickened. She’d been lying to him his entire life and it didn’t feel to Mike that he would ever be able to look at her the same. His world was about to change drastically, and it was because of her, because she had normalized the fact that he wasn’t whole. 

For a while it felt nice to just pretend he was asleep. But the thing that scared him was that he knew that she loved Mike more than anything, and she had still lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please leave a comment! I even have a tumblr so you can come rant about Reddie with me!  
> https://i-write-fic-not-essays.tumblr.com/


	4. Baby Take My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one feels a little rushed but it's almost midnight and i'm sick of looking at it so here

The hotel was the tallest building either Richie or Eddie had ever seen in person. It was a Marriott, simple and standard with starched white sheets and ladies at the front desk who looked like flight attendants. The boys sat on an uncomfortable faux leather couch in the lobby, leaning on each other’s shoulders for support. Richie had one hand curled tight around his Walkman. He was playing with the cords of his headphones, his bitten, charcoal-black fingernails making indents in the vinyl chloride jacket of the wires. Eddie looked up at him. 

“Richie,” he said. Richie wouldn’t look at him. Eddie thought for a moment. Richie had survived a plethora of unthinkably terrifying situations. He carried such a big burden. And maybe Eddie carried it, too, but for Eddie, it was the everyday things he found hard. The urge not to use hand sanitizer every time he touched anything, to scrub his skin raw every time he got in the shower. Richie had so much shit going on. Eddie knew he was just as damaged as he was, but he was so, so good at hiding it that even Eddie forgot sometimes, just how sad he was. 

Richie was brave because Richie spoke first once, and when he spoke, for the first time in what felt like forever, he said what he meant when he told Eddie he was in love with him.

And now, three years after they had all nearly been killed, three years since Richie had spoken his mind and neither one of them had ever looked back, the rug he’d been knitting his entire life had been ripped out from underneath him and he was left clinging to threads. Maybe that was a shitty analogy, but Eddie knew things were going to change. And Richie was putting a brave face on. 

Eddie hated his brave face.

* * *

Stan got home at seven am. He’d woken up at five to see Richie and Eddie off, and though he didn’t regret his decision, his bed looked mighty tempting. He contemplated whether or not to spend the day in bed, mourning the loss of Richie Tozier’s constant presence. If you had asked he would have told you he didn’t miss him and didn’t expect to, but Stanley Uris loved that boy. So what if he would die before admitting it? He stared at himself in his bathroom mirror for awhile until his father came in, prowling like a lioness on the hunt.

“Son,” he said in his gruff voice. Stanley shivered. “Some new folks just moved in a couple streets down. I want you to go meet them.” He looked up at his father. Though Stan was sixteen, it seemed as though the Rabbi still loomed over him. He would never fill that shadow.

“Yes sir,” he said slowly, making sure his voice didn’t crack. 

“Well,” said his father. “Get on, boy.”

Stanley threw on a sweater and dug his bike out from behind the broken ping pong table in the garage. He’d not used it since maybe the beginning of the school year. Since Richie had gotten his license, for the most part, all six of them would carpool. His legs got tired quickly; he was out of shape.

As he pulled up to the new house, he noticed how slick his palms had become on the handlebars of his bike. Maybe it was just anxiety over meeting new people, but something told Stan that these new folks were _off_ somehow. Maybe they shone, too. 

He rang the doorbell, and after a shockingly short amount of time, one very anxious-looking woman answered the door. 

“Hello?” she stuttered.

“Hi, I’m Stan, uh, my father is the Rabbi here in Derry, I live a couple streets down. Anyway, my parents are busy but they just wanted to welcome you.”

“Great, well, I’m Joyce,” she said, sticking out her hand. Stan took it. “Will, Jane, come say hi,” she called out over her shoulder. A boy and girl about his age approached the door cautiously. As he locked eyes with the girl, something came and went quickly through his head, making his temples throb. He winced. “Are you alright, honey?” Joyce asked him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Fine,” he said, trying to smile for her benefit, though his eyes were trained on the girl. Jane, he remembered. Her energy was different than anything he had ever seen. To be frank, it scared the shit out of him. She was powerful, that was certain, but something felt dormant, like it was held tight in a bottle and the cork was jammed. He needed to get them alone. “Would you like to take a walk with me? I can, uh, show you around a bit?” His voice got all high during the last part of his sentence, making it sound like a question, but the girl seemed to read his thoughts. 

“Yes,” she said. Something about it sounded mechanical, as if she’d only recently learned to speak. This added to her overall concerning effect on Stan. The boy, clearly confused about Stan and Jane’s silent exchange, followed. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Stan and Jane turned to each other. The boy, clearly anxious about the tension, looked back and forth between both of them and cleared his throat.

“So, uh, I guess we should start with introductions, then?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Will Byers.” Stanley took it. 

“Stanley Uris.” Jane cocked her head a little, as if the bit of humaneness Stan had shown Will was unexpected. Stan turned to the girl. “Forgive me if I’m being too upfront,” he said. “But who the hell are you?”

* * *  
.

Their room was eight doors down from the elevator, and the hallway smelled like cigarette smoke. 

“I thought we were supposed to get a no smoking room,” Eddie said, wrinkling his nose. 

“I’m not complaining,” Richie grinned. He busted out the pack of cigs Bev had gotten (or, more likely, stolen) for him and unlocked the door.

There was only one bed.

Eddie smiled a little and sat down on the large, king-sized mattress. Mr. Tozier deserved an award. It took him a minute to realize, however, that Richie’s labored breathing was not from excitement, it was from fear.

“My dad,” he said. “How did he… what if he…”

“Richie,” said Eddie. “I told him about us. He knows.” Richie looked at him, his eyes wide with fear and betrayal. 

“What?” he asked. Eddie shrugged.

“Well, he guessed. I just confirmed.”

“But what if he hates me?” He was nearly hyperventilating now. 

“Look, Rich,” he said. “He got us one bed. Richie, all he wants is for you to be happy. I’d give so much to have a parent like that. Today in the car he asked me if I loved you.”

“And?” Richie gulped. “What did you say?”

“I said yes,” Eddie blinked. “Of course I said yes, you fucking doofus.” He grinned at Richie’s faint blush. 

“And?” Richie pressed, relaxing a little.

“He told me I make you happy. And so I told him just how happy you make me.”

“Hmm?” Richie said, getting that look in his eye. Eddie didn’t know if he should be excited or terrified. “And how happy is that, Spaghetti?”

“Well,” Eddie huffed. “You got over that quickly.” Richie pouted. “You’re a dumbass,” Eddie grinned. He took a deep breath. “I’ve known you for ten years, Rich, and you still give me butterflies.” Richie sat down next to him and kissed him softly. 

“Like that?” he smiled.

“Rich,” Eddie whispered. There was a sudden tension that flowed through both of them, like they both suddenly remembered why they were here. “Richie,” Eddie said. “You’re so brave. You’re so brave, but you don’t have to pretend you’re fine.” Richie looked at his hands.

“Fucking… Eddie, you kind of ruined the mood.”

“I love you, Richie. All of you.” He paused, composing himself. “Will you look at me, please?” He did, and Eddie’s heart broke. 

“That escalated so quickly,” Richie huffed.

“Stop,” Eddie said. “I know you like to make jokes, but you have to know when to stop, Richie. It’s ridiculous. Okay? You figured out your mom was dead, you were adopted, and you’re being forced by some fucked-up, corrupted government to live with your birth parents, whom you’ve never met in your life. What if they abuse you? What if they starve you? Oh, God, Rich…” Richie cut him off.

“Eddie,” he said. “We fucking… we killed a murderous clown when we were fucking thirteen years old, okay? I’m… I’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t have to, Richie, because this fucking sucks! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! No one fucking deserves this, okay? And, okay, yeah, nobody fucking deserves to be tormented by some fucking demon space terror cannibal or whatever the fuck, but you’re allowed to get upsed about the normal stuff, too! Er, yanno what, this isn’t fucking normal, either. You’re allowed to get upset about stuff that isn’t life threatening, or like, a supernatural phenomena. Because shit’s gonna change. And I fucking hate it, and I’m pretty sure you do, too, okay?” They were both crying now. Richie’s sobs wracked his body and Eddie wrapped his arms around him and just held him, as if he was afraid he would float away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about Jewish culture, so if I make any mistakes regarding Donald Uris' character feel free to yell at my uneducated ass in the comments.


	5. Baby I'm Your Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My father lives in fear that one day I'm going to get so angry at him I'll say he's not my real father. He also is very afraid that my birthfather, currently M.I.A, is going to bounce in one Christmas morning with a bottle of Jack Daniels under his arm and say he's gonna learn me to be a real daughter of his.

Karen pulled into the parking space slowly, switching off the engine. She made no move to get out. Mike looked over at her. His heart was beating a million times a minute in anticipation at meeting his twin brother for the first time in sixteen years, but he remained still and breathed through his nose to calm himself. His mother was crying again, silently this time. He sighed.

“Mom,” he said. “You fucked up. You know that, right?” She nodded, but said nothing. “Sometimes you just have to face the music.” Karen undid her seatbelt, making a move to open the door. Mike grabbed her wrist. “I love you,” he said. “But it’s going to take me awhile. To forgive you, I mean. And if your stories about Aunt Maggie are true, it may take him a whole lot longer.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears, and, head high, walked into the hotel, Mike trailing behind her.

***

“You know, maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Eddie said quickly. Whenever he spoke fast it was always a time for concern because it meant he was having doubts, and when he had doubts he panicked. Richie had learned how to handle it pretty well over the years, but this was ridiculous. One of them needed to stay strong or it would all go to shit. He snorted.

“Yeah, no shit, Spaghetti.”

“I mean it, Rich. Did you see that episode of _Cutting Edge_ last fall? It was all about Hawkins, how there was all this shady shit going on, with-- with like, Russians and stuff, and… secret lab conspiracies and that girl, like, died cause the lab had poisoned the water or something and they covered it up by moving her car to the bus station…I mean, what if something happens and we’re twelve hours away? You’re the only Loser who can drive, we would have no way of getting to you...” Richie took Eddie’s face in both of his hands and kissed him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I love that you’re worried, Eds, it’s flattering, but you’re not exactly doing good things for my nerves.”

“I’m sorry,” sighed Eddie. “It’s just…” he started crying.

“Oh, God,” Richie said. Eddie tried to respond through his tears, but his sobs were too heavy. Richie held him as tight as he could, peppering kisses on his hairline and shoulders. “I know,” he whispered between kisses. “I know.”

***

Stanley led the two new kids to the park, watching them warily out of the corner of his eye the whole way. Just as he was beginning to doubt his suspicions, Jane wandered away from the other two in favor of watching the Shakespeare play, _a Midsummer Night’s Dream,_ that Derry Middle put on every summer. She was cocking her head, her brows furrowed in confusion, as she turned to Will and asked, 

“What are they doing?” Will gave Stan a nervous glance before saying,

“It’s a play, El.” El?

“A play?” She repeated.

“It’s like a movie, except they’re live, right in front of you.” The awkward silence that followed was deafening before Stanley could stand it no longer.

“What,” he said. “Were you raised in a lab?” Jane’s brown eyes widened.

“How did you know?” she asked. Stanley almost laughed. Will elbowed Jane.

“He was joking, El,” he whispered. It was clear, however, that Stanley had overheard their exchange. His eyebrows flew up. Will gave him what he hoped to be a warning glare.

“Actually?” said Stan.

“Shut up,” Will hissed.

“No,” said Stan. “I wouldn’t care if she was.” He gave a small smile at the look of utter shock on both of their faces. “Look,” he said. “When you’re the Rabbi’s son in a town of less than 25,000 and you’re friends with the biggest losers in town, you learn how to keep a secret, for sure. But mostly you just learn that the world isn’t nearly as perfect as your parents think it is.” The three of them pondered this for a minute. “You both have some damage, don’t you?” Stanley inquired slowly. Will looked at Eleven, whose eyes were widened in understanding at the exchange. He looked back at Stan, then nodded.

“Me, too,” Stanley said. “Why do you call her El?” She pulled back the sleeve of her flannel sweatshirt to reveal a tattoo on her inner wrist. It read 011.

“Holy shit,” Stan whispered.

“Short for Eleven,” she said. Despite the nervousness she felt, she sounded proud of the nickname. “Our boyfriend gave it to me, the nickname.” Stanley raised an eyebrow. Will elbowed his girlfriend again. 

“That’s not really a thing most people find acceptable, El,” he whispered. She wrinkled her nose.

“Why not?” She asked, offended.

“It’s just not common,” Stan said. “Especially not in a town like this. I wouldn’t worry though,” he said. “My friends and I have seen a lot crazier shit than three people in love before.” He looked at both of their confused faces and smiled. “Want to go get some ice cream?”

***

Karen shouldered her purse and opened the door to the lobby. It had been a sleepless night; she’d spent nearly 15 minutes trying to cover up the plum-coloured circles under her eyes. 

She came in slowly, ignoring the way her heart was beating and her breath began to shorten, admiring the chandelier in the lobby. Mike walked in after her like a man on a mission. As soon as Richie and Eddie saw him both of their jaws dropped.

“Holy shit,” they said in sync. Wentworth looked up at their sudden amazement. He looked between Mike and Richie several times before deciding that no, he was not actually in the middle of some acid-induced hallucination.

“Well, Rich, I guess that answers your question. Apparently you do, in fact, have siblings.”

Richie made eye contact with Karen Wheeler. She and Mike approached the three of them cautiously, as if afraid they would bolt, or maybe disintegrate before their eyes.

“Ah,” Richie said when the two had at last reached them. “You must be the birthgiver.” He stuck out his hand. “Call me Richie, please, if you don’t mind. I bet that bitch who called herself a social worker didn’t mention I haven’t gone by Richard since the day I came home from the hospital, huh? What a service she gave, and by that I mean she was absolutely no help at all.”

“Son,” Wentworth said. “Please.”

“Shut up,” he said in his pouty teen voice. “You’re not my real dad, anyway.” Wentworth chuckled at this.

“I suppose not,” he said. “But I thought I raised you better than that.” Both Mike and Karen seemed utterly shocked at the exchange. Richie smiled a bit. If anything, at least he could have fun toying with his new family’s picket-fence morales. Karen cleared her throat.

“Well, um, I’m Karen Wheeler,” she said. The look in her eye as she shook Wentworth’s hand scared Mike. She looked hostile. 

“Wentworth Tozier,” he said. He was smiling, oddly, though Mike could sense the turbulent waves of his thoughts behind his eyes. Something told Mike that Wentworth, however long he had been married to his psycho aunt, loved Richie. Karen clearly could not see this, or else she didn’t care, because the way she treated him was not like anything Mike had seen out of her before. Richie cleared his throat as the five of them looked at each other.

“Can we address the fact that I have a _twin,_ please?” Karen looked at Wentworth accusingly. 

“How much did you tell him?” He held up his hands in defense.

“Hey,” he said. “I told him everything I knew. I don’t know if you noticed, but Maggie wasn’t exactly prone to oversharing.”

“She was about as warm friendly as a glacier,” Richie mumbled. Mike snickered into his hand.

“Don’t encourage him,” said the boy next to Richie, but he had a gleam in his eyes that told Mike they probably had these kinds of exchanges often.

“I’m sorry,” Karen said. “Who are you?” Richie slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“This here is Eddie Spaghetti. He’s gonna be in my wedding one day.” The three of them exchanged glances like they knew something Karen and Mike didn’t, which did nothing for Karen’s frustration.

“Pleased to meet you,” she nodded. “I think it’s best we should get going. I told my daughter I would be back in time to make dinner.” Eddie’s face fell like that was the worst news he’d ever received.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide. “But you two just got here!”

“Yes, well.” Karen shuffled nervously. Eddie huffed like a bull. Richie and Mike both instinctively braced themselves. Mike knew that look; it was the one Lucas always gave when he was about to go off on one of his rants. 

“Eddie,” Richie uttered under his breath. It was both a warning and a plea, but his heart wasn’t in it. Shit was about to hit the fan in a big way.

“Oh my God, no,” Eddie scoffed. “He’s not leaving yet. You didn’t give him a chance to say goodbye yet.”

“You’ve had all of last night to say goodbye,” she said, offended.

“You can’t do that,” Eddie said. His voice was low and dangerous. “You can’t waltz in here after sixteen years of leaving him with that complete psycho he had to call his mother and act like you own him. This man--” he pointed at Wentworth. “--Has been the best father I’ve ever seen, but he was given jack shit to work with, you know? He’s been here trying to support Richie while his wife has blown every single one of his paychecks on booze because you and all your bourgeoisie apeshit couldn’t be bothered to send child support or put her in rehab. She’d go on benders and leave Richie alone for days when he was eight. Eight! And don’t you dare look at Mr. Tozier like that. He damn well did better than you. Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t understand how you can just…”

“Eddie,” Richie interrupted, tugging at his sleeve. “Please.” Eddie looked Karen in the eye, intensity radiating like something out of Chernobyl.

“You better treat him like gold after what you did,” he said simply. Richie turned to them.

“Would you give us a minute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you comment on this fic, all of your wildest dreams will come true.


	6. We'll Be Able to Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! Little shorter chapter today. I have no excuse, as I finished the Witcher in two days.

Eleven had a peculiar way of eating ice cream. She ate it slowly, licking around the top of the cone so none of it would drip down onto her fingers. Stanley watched this with interest, along with the way Will regarded this with confusion and admiration. Stan appreciated the fact that while not even Will knew all of the ins and outs of his mysterious girlfriend he admired her nonetheless. 

“So,” Stan said, eyebrows raised. “How did you two meet?”

“Talking to you is like having dinner with Mike’s parents,” El said out of nowhere. Stanley laughed. 

“What can I say,” he said. “Richie always says I’m an old soul.” Will and El kept eating their ice cream silently, stealing some off of one another’s cones occasionally. “So you’re not going to tell me?” El looked down guiltily. Stanley checked the time on the bell tower, then looked down at his watch. “That’s fine,” he said. Just then, Victor Criss walked by and pushed Stan to the ground. He regarded Will and Eleven with a twisted, joyful look in his eye that put a knot in Stan’s stomach.

“Fresh meat,” he said, grinning.

“Psycho,” Stan muttered under his breath.

“What was that, freak?” Vic aimed a kick at his ribs, and Stan curled up to protect his stomach. Will felt his hands clenched into fists, and he grit his teeth to stop himself from saying anything. He glanced at El in conformation that she would do something, and she lifted her chin slightly, making eye contact--yes.“Goddamn right. I’ll see you at school, f-” Stan looked up as Vic was cut off suddenly. A dark stain was making its way down Vic’s left pant leg. He scowled and took off. 

“Mouth breather,” Eleven said, wiping blood from her nose. Will bent to help Stan up. He smiled to himself at Stan’s lack of acknowledgement that El had just made that fucknut piss himself; whether this was because he didn’t know or he didn’t care made no difference to Will, he appreciated it nonetheless.

“Does that happen often?” Will asked. Stan sighed; he had wanted to last as long as possible without his new friends knowing just how popular at school.

“Listen,” he said carefully. “My friends and I get pushed around a lot. If you want to stay under the radar, we’re probably not your best bet, to be honest, but then again, it’s either us or the crowd who bullies us, and they’re not exactly subtle either.” Will and El looked at each other.

“We’re not bullies,” El said. She stuck out her hand. “Friends?” Stan took it, grinning. 

“Friends.”

* * *

The drive back to Hawkins was the most excruciatingly awkward thing ever to take place in the history of mankind. Richie god shotgun, and Mike didn’t protest because he’d just had his entire life uprooted. To be fair, so had Mike, but at least he didn’t have to move in with five people he’d never met in his entire life. Sure, Richie was a shithead, but part of Mike felt like he could attribute a lot of Richie’s, ah, stranger traits to his less-than-ideal upbringing.

Mike had observed the way Richie had pulled the other boy into the bathroom of the lobby. More importantly, he’d realized that the way they’d looked at each other the same way Hopper had always looked at Joyce, like there was something there older than he was, that would last longer than he would. Mike wondered if he looked at Will and El like that.

Richie sat in the front, forehead against the window trying to hide his tears from Karen, but Mike could tell that leaving that boy behind might have been one of the hardest things his twin had ever had to do. Like it was the hardest thing Mike had ever done, letting Will and El go. Except in their case, they were running away from danger. Richie may not know it, but he was running straight the fuck towards it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike is a good egg. My heart goes out to Stanley, because same, honestly. I love him too, don't be mad at me :(
> 
> Everyone who comments will receive my eternal love. Seriously.


	7. Valentine is Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the Losers are soft as FUCK and they love each other so much you guys its so pure

The first thing Richie said as he stepped into Mike’s (recently scrubbed clean in Karen’s attempt to try and make her lost son feel at home, leading to the opposite effect) was, “Wow, we are very different people.” He whistled, and threw his duffle bag onto the center of the vacuumed carpet. “It’s not normally this clean, right? Cause like, if it was, we’re definitely gonna have a problem.”

“Don’t worry,” Nancy said, popping her head in. “He’s just as much a slob as the next guy.” She stuck out her hand. “Nancy,” she tucked a curl behind her ear. “I guess I’m your sister, or whatever.” Richie smiled.

“Or whatever,” he agreed. “Yeah, this is weird as fu… hey, little lady.” His voice went up, noticing he’d almost cursed in front of Holly, who had wandered in at all the commotion.

“Are you my brother?” Richie had to hold back a coo. He couldn’t have his new family knowing he was a total fucking softie. He had a reputation to uphold, and this goddamn toddler wasn’t going to ruin things for him, dammit.

“Apparently,” he told her. “I’m Richie.”

“My name is Holly,” she said it like she’d been rehearsing.

“And how old are you, Holly?” he asked. She held up six fingers. Richie feigned shock. “What a big girl you are!” Holly giggled and blushed, turning around to scamper down the corridor. 

“Cute,” he said, mostly to himself. Silence hung over the three remaining siblings like a wet blanket. 

“So, Richie,” Nancy said. Even to her it sounded like awkward dinner conversation. The three of them cringed. “Do you have any adopted siblings?” Richie shook his head. 

“Nope, just me, dad, and my insane fucking mother. Or, I guess she’s my aunt now, huh?” Mike looked at his shoes.

“I don’t know,” Nancy responded. “I think that, if they’re the people who raised you, no matter what, they’re your parents.”

“Well, what a grand fucking job she did. My dad’s great, I just don’t know why the hell he was married to a fucking psycho.” The corners of Nancy’s mouth twitched. 

“I know someone like that,” she said. Mike nodded. 

“Our, uh, friends, Will and Jonathan, have an amazing mother. She’s kind of… peculier, I guess, but she loves them. Their dad, on the other hand…. Well, he’s not winning any trophies.” Richie nodded. 

“Yeah, well, now me and your friends can be damaged together.” It seemed Mike and Nancy didn’t know how to respond to this. Richie laughed a little. “But look at this! What a nice fuckin’ picket fence house. Right on the end of a cul-de-sac, too? You guys have a dog? It’s like seeing a movie of the American Dream right before my very eyes, except it all went wrong with the long-lost trashmouth brother from fucking… murder capital, Maine.” Nancy scrunched her nose. 

“Murder capital?” she asked. 

“Murder capital,” he repeated. “My friend Ben looked it up in the library once. Children in Derry, Maine, my hometown, are like, 60% more likely to die or go missing. I guess it’s not so different here, though. I saw that episode of Cutting Edge. Y’all are hiding all sorts of government, secret lab shit.” His new siblings shifted uncomfortably. “Relax,” he told them. “I don’t fear death. Or Russians.”

\+ +

“Welcome to the clubhouse,” Bev said from her spot in the corner. Stan took the cigarette wedged between her fingers and stamped it out. 

“Smoking causes cancer,” he said. She ignored him and lit another one. 

“You gonna introduce us to your friends, you ass?”

“Castle Byers,” El said, nudging Will. 

“This place puts Castle Byers to shame,” Will said, in awe. A blond, heavyset kid stood up from his perch on a beanbag to greet them. 

“This is Ben,” the redhead told them with a particular fondness ringing in her voice. “He’s the mastermind behind this place. Built it himself. I’m Bev Marsh, by the way.” Will smiled at her. Something about the way she held herself reminded her of Max. Maybe it was the way she didn’t seem to care about how many eyes were on her. Ben, the chubby kid, was looking at her like she’d hung the moon. She didn’t seem to notice that she looked at him the same way. There was some baggage there.

“So,” Bev turned her full attention onto El and Will. “Who are you two, and what brings your unfortunately destined family to God’s Asscrack, Maine?”

“Apparently,” Stanley interrupted. “They’ve just moved from the God’s Asscrack of Indiana. The same shit town that our Trashmouth departed to just a few hours ago.” Bev’s ears perked up at this, but her eyes narrowed. She began to stalk them like a predator with an eye on the fattest antelope on the plain. 

“Don’t let her mischievous looks and firey hair fool you,” Ben told them, not granting Will much comfort. “She’s actually a big ol’ softie underneath.” Will was tapping El on the shoulder in an effort to get her to stop growling at Bev.

“Now, Benny boy. We can’t have you spilling all my secrets on our first day.” She patted El on the shoulder and met her eyes with a wide smile. “I like this one. Let’s keep her.” El looked confused. 

“I’m not a pet,” she said, trying to sound threatening. 

“Of course not,” Bev apologised. “I’m sorry. I just meant, our clubhouse is here when you need it. It’s a good place to hide from the Bowers gang. And, well, so are we. We can always use more allies in the war against impending adulthood.” El spat on her hand and stuck it out to her. 

“Promise?” She said. Bev looked down, puzzled at first, before reciprocating. 

“Promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adopted siblings are 100% real siblings and you should comment!


	8. Another 40,000 Coming Every Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Skates in four years late with a juicebox in my hand* My eyes have glossed over cause I forgot to blink while watching Naruto

The silence that plagued the dining room at the Wheeler household that night knotted Richie’s muscles like fishing line. There was a crease in Nancy’s brow that his eyes kept jumping back to. He didn’t know if it was easier or harder to know that he wasn’t the only one afraid he would be eaten alive quicker than the popcorn chicken and mashed potatoes Karen had served hot at six pm on the dot. Maybe that was an insult to the mashed potatoes, though; most of them were being spread all over Holly’s plate with her fork, the gravy curling muddily amongst the mess. 

“Holly,” Karen scolded, the first word of the meal ringing like a bell. “Please don’t play with your food.” Holly said nothing in response, instead turning up her nose and scowling at her family. Richie fiddled with the hem of his baseball tee… come to think of it, this didn’t seem like something he’d be caught dead in. It must have been Bill’s. Karen had taken to muttering to her daughter. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, mostly to herself. “You asked for potatoes. You chose them…” Richie looked up from his own plate, which he’d barely touched. Holly was staring at him intently, as if daring him to say something. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she raised one right back. Must be a family trait.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Holly Jolly, I bet I can eat more potatoes than you.” She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. It was just what she had wanted to hear. She began to shovel them into her mouth at an inhuman speed. Richie nearly toppled out of his chair at the bout of whiplash. He’d only managed to squeeze a couple of bites in by the time she’d finished, looking up to see her smiling proudly at him. It gave Richie chills as he thought of a day he’d played the same game with Georgie, when he’d not wanted to finish his broccoli. He’d given the same cheeky grin when he’d eaten his entire plate. 

“Looks like I’ve been bested again,” he said. “But, if I may, Princess Holly, I’ve got another challenge for you.” when she said nothing, he’d taken it as a sign to continue. “Just how many green beans can you eat?” She turned her nose away at the mention of the forbidden vegetable, the same surly expression written across her face. Richie shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Ah, well. I suppose then I shall just search farther for a more… worthy opponent.” That was all it took. She began to protest immediately.

“W-e-ll… I guess I could. But I don’t like green beans.”

“I bet,” Richie said, eyes twinkling, “That I dislike them much more.” Holly wrinkled her nose.

“Then why do you eat them?” She asked, disgust painting her face.

“Because green beans have magic properties of eternal youth, or something. You’ll find true love if you eat green beans.”

“Have you found true love?”

“Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we? Now, eat those green beans.” She complied, albeit reluctantly, but he took it as a win. The rest of the table was looking back and forth between them with shocked expressions. 

“She hasn’t eaten green beans in years,” Karen told him. “Thank you.”

It was the first time she’d looked him in the eye.

***

It was nearly dark by the time the Losers had called it a night. There were certain things that went unsaid but were known between them all, their empathetic link firing off a sort of appreciation, thankfulness to the two new members of the gang for making the everyday things of Derry seem more significant. How the drapes in the shop named Secondhand Rose had been exposed to the sun every day since before the losers had been born, and yet the rich crimson color of the cheaply-made fabric never seemed to fade. They seemed to appreciate how nothing shone from the drapes, that it was a completely and utterly boring phenomena that no one besides them had noticed in years, probably. It didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t evil.

It was a pleasant evening of mosquito bites and scratching at sunburn before they passed the street on which Georgie died. 

Eleven was stiff for most of the walk over to Bills, where they had planned to congregate before bidding goodnight with the hopes of discussing the new kids’ connection to Richie the next morning. But as they passed the storm drain where Georgie was last seen, El had gone positively rigid. She stopped in her tracks, cutting off Will, who quickly apologized for stepping on the heels of her hand-me-down shoes from Nancy.

“What is it, El?” He asked, after gaining some composure. Bill looked like he’d swallowed a marble. El looked up at him, brow creased, then back down at the storm drain. 

“Something bad happened here,” she said quietly. The others looked at one another, all matching El’s furrowed brow. Bill, at last, took a step towards her. 

“How did you know?” he asked her quietly. Still, she flinched at the dangerous tone poorly disguised in his voice. The hair on Will’s arms raised. 

“Wait,” he said, trying to step in between them.

“I-I-I’m not upset,” Bill said, visibly upset. “I just n-need to know how she could t-t-tell.”

“Sure,” El shot back. “As soon as you tell me what happened here.”

“My b-b-baby brother was murdered here,” he said, his voice raised. It graded El's skin, and she quickly ran her hands over her arms to soothe the gooseflesh. It did nothing for the chills. “Happy?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Bill sighed into his hands.

“No,” he said. “That’s not fair. Y-y-you couldn’t have known… I mean,” he continued, speaking slowly and thoughtfully as always, “I g-guess you could have, you knew something happened…” 

“El,” Will interrupted, “can do certain things.” He looked at her a little guiltily, but she nodded her head. It was all he needed to know that she was trying to say, I trust you, you trust them. It’s okay. 

“What things?” Beverly asked, interrupting their connection. And then El got the look on her face that Will had missed so much. Her eyebrows raised, she turned to Bev, a tiny smirk on her lips and a huge sparkle in her eye.

“I’m glad you asked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time Bill Hader laughs an angel gets its wings

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! Feedback and kudos water my crops, keep my skin clear, ec cetera. No, but seriously, it would mean a lot.


End file.
